


raise you like a phoenix

by nighimpossible



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: F/M, Fix-It, Resurrection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-25
Updated: 2016-09-25
Packaged: 2018-08-17 06:25:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8133649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nighimpossible/pseuds/nighimpossible
Summary: He can’t begin to guess what the last few days have cost them. Well, he can guess, but his imagination isn’t very kind. Pike brushes the diamond flakes from his chest and Percy rises. He glances at the dust on the bed and frowns.“Don’t ask the price we paid,” Vex says quietly. “It was worth it.”





	

**Author's Note:**

> Um, spoilers for episode 68. DEAR GOD. 
> 
> This is absolutely going to get jossed the second the next episode airs, but I needed to write this to get me through the week, honestly.
> 
> Title from Fall Out Boy's, "The Phoenix."

 

 

 

There are monsters in his nightmares, but Percy has seen them before.

 

 

* * *

 

 

He sees Vax wind up for the blow, and Percy knows that he’s quick enough to move out of the way. 

 

He doesn’t move, for this is the kind of pain he can take easily. If this blow will sate even some of the anger coursing through Vax's veins toward Percy, let it be done. When the hit comes, Percy sees stars for a moment, though he can tell it’s not strong enough to leave a real mark. It’s the look that Vax gives him that really hurts: a glance that’s heavy with betrayal, like Vax thought Percy would help him protect Vex to the ends of the map and beyond. Not this. Never _this_.

 

Percy can’t say that he blames him.

 

“Good night, Percival,” Vax says shortly. Percy repeats the dismissal quietly before he hears Scanlan add, “It’s four in the afternoon.” Apparently the gnome had gotten a good look at the spectacle, which is slightly embarrassing. Percy is not surprised he stayed out of it.

 

Scanlan, in a moment of uncharacteristic genuine concern, pats Percy on the arm after Vax is out of earshot. Perhaps he says it because there is nothing else to say, because jokes will fall flat and they both know it. “Hang in there, buddy.”

 

Percy huffs out a little sigh before shooting Scanlan a bittersweet look. “Indeed, there is no where else to hang.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

He feels Vax’s eyes on him all the time, now, and that is good: he does not expect the others to forgive his past indiscretions. He cannot say that it does not sting, because it _does_ string, and he expects it will continue to do so until he develops a less penetrable armor around his psyche. But Percy prefers this constant vigilance to benign obliviousness. He’s proved to himself and others that he is dangerous. He has to earn their trust all over again, and that will take time.

 

But nine Hells, Percy is tired of being this way.

 

Seeing her alive, though: _that_ is a salve to his guilt.

 

“Percy, darling. Have I got something on my face?” Vex teases when he stares at her a little too long. Sometimes it is hard to forget the image of her on the floor of the underwater tomb, lifeless and pale. Sometimes he has to blink away her dead visage with a shake of his head.

 

He remembers his thought process in the tomb: that this vestige was to be _his_ , that he was ready to pledge allegiance to a goddess like the Raven Queen. He had a moment of pure want, of overwhelming _desire_ , a moment that obscured his usual careful judgement. A secret, horrible part of him had thought that he deserved an item of such power, that it was in his birthright to become something _more_. A patron of a _goddess_. 

 

It had sounded good at the time.

 

He’d trade bloody Bad News to take back what he did so carelessly, so _recklessly_. That is not his forte. He’s so damn smart, so bloody clever, it makes ironic sense that his greatest failure is one of rash, idiotic stupidity. But Percy has found though that, in life, there are no take backs. There is only dealing with the consequences of your actions and moving forward as best you can. So that is what Percy does. There are dragons to kill, and vestiges to collect. What’s another guilty burden to bear?

 

At this point, he’s glad Vax has the Deathwalker’s Ward. It has changed him in strange ways that Percy isn’t sure he’d be comfortable with if he himself had donned the armor. The Raven Queen is a much less... _benign_ figure than he had imagined. Perhaps he had been a fool, even then. Vax is more serious these days, but indeed, they all are. Ancient dragons tend to do that. A party member coming back from the dead tends to do that as well.

 

He notices Vex changing too, even if the some of the others don’t. It is like there is a before and after, for her. Percy thinks maybe something cracked within her on that dreadful night, something that had helped her stay cool and confident, something that helped her keep her demons at bay. She’s good at keeping her friends at a distance, that woman. She’s even better at pretending to be fine. But Percy can’t help but look beyond the surface with her. She draws his attention.

 

 

* * *

 

 

The Briarwoods were the monsters in his nightmares for too many years: pale and too sharp and slick enough to slip inside his unconscious mind. They took his home, they killed his family, and they sickened the city he ought to be sovereign over. They nearly killed his friends, too, when they sought to take back his home. And Percy will probably have dreams about Cassandra proclaiming she is a Briarwood until the day he dies. These monsters are slain, now, but the soil they claimed dominion over beneath the castle is still void of any life. Percy wonders if their mark will ever leave Whitestone.

 

Orthax was the monster in his heart: the one he invited in, the one he made a deal with, the one he welcomed with open arms. Percy doesn’t remember much about the years he spent abroad after finding a way out of Whitestone, and Orthax marks the end of his haziness. In a way, he is thankful to the creature for bringing him back to the present, in spite of the way things ended.

 

It is hard, being defined so utterly by the things that destroyed you. Percy does not know who he is, now that he has cast the monsters out.

 

 

* * *

 

 

The Feywild is a balm on Percy’s soul, despite its dangers and treacherous aspects. He’s wanted to see this plane since he read about it as a child in the library at Whitestone Castle. Keyleth is equally as delighted, and the two of them relish the new terrain like small children, honestly. They deserve a reprieve, he thinks to himself. They deserve to explore a land as beautiful and magical as this.

 

Of course, the whole place finds ways to fuck with the lot of them, and it pisses Percy off to get taken advantage of: _he’s_ the one who does the trickery with honeyed words around here, not some snot-nosed satyr with a penchant for foul artworks. 

 

No one charms a De Rolo: not anymore.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Vex asks for his help in Syngorn and he cannot refuse. It seems so beneath her, to crave her father’s approval so deeply, but Percy understands how cruel the world can be to a child who is different. The title is no skin off his nose, and having Vex’ahlia be _of Whitestone_ in any capacity does make him feel a little more grounded.

 

She is worthy of so much more than mere wealth or fancy titles. He hopes by giving her the barony she will begin to understand that she does not need it. That woman is invaluable, but if she needs titles or lands to being to understand the esteem in which others hold her, Percy will do his best to give her the world.

 

Sandor is more cruel than he expected.

 

Vex seems staggered by the high fey’s words in ways that Percy cannot pretend to ignore. The fact that he can get under her skin so easy unnerves him. Seeing Vex so unraveled makes Percy want to blast this creature into the abyss. When he demands her heart and she proclaims that it belongs to someone else, Percy does a small fist pump. That’s a girl who’s rediscovered her nerve.

 

He doesn’t think about _who_ it may belong to until much later.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Keyleth knows what Percy is himself still unsure of. She knows him better than he knows himself, Percy thinks idly. If she trusts him, there must be good in there worth saving, worth cultivating and growing into something different. Something _better_.

 

This is not the person he wants to be. He is going to do his best to outlive these damn dragons, because change takes time and patience, two things he has little of these days. But this person he has become, a person shaped by violence and trauma, a person still tinged with dark cruelty, this _cannot_ be how Percy ends his days. He can become a better person. He just needs—he just needs a damn _chance_.

 

It is strange: for some people, for people like Keyleth, being good is easy. It’s as natural as the sun. For Percy, he has to try. It doesn’t mean his actions aren’t good, but he has to think about it. Percy wonders if there is sin in hesitation.

 

 

* * *

 

 

It appears some monsters still remain.

 

“I will not let her touch you,” Vex tells him quietly.

 

It is strange, seeing ghosts. But Ripley was never dead. She is yet another monster at the edges of his memory, a specter that lingers in his thoughts, taunting him mercilessly. She is the monster at the end of this tale: not the biggest, and certainly not with the most teeth, but Percy thinks that ultimately, he may fear her most of all.

 

“She has one, maybe _two_ Vestiges already. She is more formidable than any one human we’ve ever encountered.” Percy is scared, and it seems oddly imperative to tell his friends just how scared they ought to be.

 

Vex shakes her head. “I will not let her touch you,” she repeats. “Don’t you trust me, Percival?”

 

“I trust you, of course I trust you,” Percy nods. “Hells, I trust you more than I trust myself.”

 

“Alright then,” Vex nods, a little to him, a little to herself.

 

“She knows of Whitestone,” Percy says quietly as Vex is stepping toward her brother, who is in deep discussion with Keyleth and Scanlan. “With her still alive, Whitestone is in grave danger. My city—”

 

“We’ll kill her, darling,” Vex says kindly, grabbing his shoulder and giving it a squeeze. “I promise.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Ripley has her pepperbox and it’s pointed at Percy’s skull. He knows he’s dreaming, but it still frightens him. She is at point-blank range, and Percy can read his own name, albeit abbreviated, that repeats on each barrel of the gun.

 

“This is how I kill you, Percy,” Ripley tells him, mania coloring her voice. Percy has his hands tied behind his back, and he sees his friends restrained behind the two of them at center stage. “First—your heart.”

 

Ripley moves her gun from Percy’s head, points, and shoots.

 

He hears Vax scream, not in physical pain, but in pure, terrified grief. Percy hears the body fall before he turns around to look at Vex. She is on her back, eyes open and empty of life. Ripley is laughing and Percy is frozen. “ _They are definitely not worth you_ ,” Ripley simpers in brutal, terrible mockery. “You make yourself vulnerable when you open your heart. Best to cut it out, don’t you agree?”

 

“You bastard!” Vax is screaming, not at Ripley, but at him. Percy can’t help but agree with the sentiment. “You said you’d keep her safe!”

 

But Percy has rarely been able to keep his promises as of late.

 

“First your heart, and last, your head,” Ripley says, counting the parts off on the fingers of her good hand. She kneels down next to him and leans in to whisper in his ear. “I know how to kill the Conclave. It’s an invention of mine. Something dangerous. Something _deadly_. Something you’ll never think of in time.” She raises The List to her own head.

 

“No,” Percy blurts out, and Ripley laughs. “Please. Tell me.”

 

It is a disgusting feeling, knowing you’ve been beat by someone you despise so utterly. Percy feels dirty and ashamed and he cannot think to look at his friends, all of whom have gone quiet as the grave.

 

“Even after all this,” she grins, barrel of the gun writhing in the strands of her hair, “you value knowledge over vengeance.” She shrugs. “ _Amazing_.”

 

As she pulls the trigger, Percy closes his eyes, and when he opens them, he sees an image of himself on the ground: a body with plumes of black smoke rising from his mouth.

 

 

* * *

 

 

He’s been awake from his nightmare for hours when Vex knocks on Percy’s door.

 

“Are you still sleeping?” she asks as he cracks the door open, light spilling into the bedroom from the hall sconces of Scanlan’s mansion.

 

“Not anymore,” he says with a grin, and she smiles and lets herself in regardless.

 

They are on the road to Ripley and Percy’s hands are shaking. They are searching for the woman who tortured him for weeks. They are seeking out his nightmares, and his nerve is failing him.

 

“Are you cold, darling?” Vex asks, and when Percy shakes his head, she takes his tremulous hands into her own. “Percival. I want to help you.”

 

“I will not lie,” Percy says tightly, “and tell you that I am not afraid.”

 

“I’m not asking you to lie to me,” Vex says, and her voice is full of an emotion that Percy does not know if he can quantify. There is pity in it, and that stings him, but there is also a deep, velvety affection that Percy grabs onto like a buoy. “Why does she scare you so much?”

 

Percy looks away. “She scares me because she _is_ me. All the worst parts of myself, the moments in which I think of a terrible but efficient way to take care of a situation: that is Ripley, in spades. She scares me because I scare myself, sometimes. Too often, these days.”

 

Vex squeezes his hands tightly in her own. “You are not Ripley, Percy.”

 

“Are you sure?” he asks plainly.

 

“Ripley doesn’t have family,” Vex states confidently.

 

“I didn’t have family for the longest time. I’m not sure if Cassandra counts, we spent so long apart—”

 

“I’m not talking about Cassandra,” Vex interrupts, and Percy’s chest warms slightly.

 

“You’re right,” Percy smiles. “She does not have you.” There are many differences between the two gunslingers that walk this earth, but Vex is right: this group grounds him in ideals that he strives to meet. These people remind him to be good. He blinks and an image appears behind his lids: that of Vex, dead in the sunken tomb, and Vex, dead by Ripley’s hand. These two hellscapes seem to blend into one horrifying nightmare visage. He can feel his face fall. “Do me a favor,” he requests, “and don’t let her kill you?”

 

“I believe I’ve died enough for this lifetime,” Vex jokes, but when Percy doesn’t reciprocate a smile, her own grin fades into grim determination. “I won’t.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

The battle on Glintshore is itself a blur of blood, head shattering explosions, and familiar shadows. Percy can tell fairly quickly that they are fucked, that they weren't prepared to fight a foe so cunning. He shouldn't have underestimated Ripley: he was a fool to even think for a nanosecond that she’d want to _talk_. He hesitates, going against his gut screaming the word _trap_ at him over and over again. He hesitates, and the tide turns.

 

Orthax is a surprise. The twins realize it before Percy does, but their mirrored expressions of horror are enough to hint at the secret behind Ripley’s enhanced new abilities. It seems that some monsters have nine lives.

 

Ripley focuses her attacks on him, and he takes too many bullets too quickly. As a result, Percy finds himself dipping in and out of consciousness throughout the fight. Pike’s necklace shakes him out of his stupor, growing so hot to the touch that it nearly burns his chest where it rests against the skin of his chest.

 

“I'm good,” he tells a bloodied Keyleth, who is resting against Trinket for support. She’s nearly tapped, but she reaches out and grasps Percy by the shoulder. Streaks of blood are running down her robes where Kynan plunged Whisper into her chest. She has red at the corner of her mouth and her smile is tinged pink.

 

“Kill this bitch,” she tells him as a surge of healing energy flows through him. He kisses her knuckles before turning back to the fray.

 

Ripley and Orthax, now two separate entities, are relentless in their pursuit. It's almost all Percy can do to just keep standing. He doesn't take his eyes off Ripley, who keeps on blinking in and out of this plane. If he can just kill this villain, Orthax should be easy to handle. If he can just stay alive, he can win this fight. He aims his gun at the last place he saw Ripley. 

 

She reappears and he fires twice. Both bullets find their mark, but Ripley stays standing.

 

Dread begins to settle in his gut.

 

There is so much more he wants to do. So many more things he has yet to accomplish. He does not want to die like this. He does not want to die so unchanged.

 

So he forgives her.

 

The look on Ripley’s face is confused, almost like she doesn’t recognize him, but she only pauses for a split second before blinking out into another plane. And that is, indeed, the point. The old Percy, the one driven solely by vengeance and spite, would go to his grave cursing Anna Ripley’s name and probably haunt her in the afterlife.

 

Percy wants to become a better person before he dies. If this is his final hour, he needs to let the past go. If he is about to die, let his soul be free of this vengeful onslaught. Let him be at peace.

 

He considers praying, and then thinks better of it: Percy’s not sure anyone would be listening at this point. He’s unleashed such havoc on the world with his designs and in failing to kill this beast of a woman when he had the chance. So maybe the gods want him dead, maybe they don’t. Their so called whims don’t interested him anymore. Percy’s had quite enough of gods.

 

Percy hears Keyleth shout a call of warning before he feels Orthax’s claw slash through his body. His body crumples, mind fighting the sweet release of unconsciousness.

 

Ripley’s gun cocks in the distance. It's a familiar noise, one that Percy knows well. Her shot is true. It always has been.

 

He hears Vex scream, and then: nothing.

 

 

* * *

 

 

There are two visions he has when his body goes quiet. First— 

 

 

* * *

 

 

He sees Keyleth in the Greyskull Keep garden, tending to her flowers. “Percy!” she shouts across the courtyard. “Come and see the white roses! They finally bloomed.”

 

Percy recognizes this memory: after the Underdark but before the Briarwoods, he remembers a time before everything went to shit. When Keyleth turns to him, he tries to memorize her face as best he can. “What’s up, grumpy?” she laughs, taking his hand and placing a white rose in his palm. “You look so sad!”

 

Percy lifts the flower to his nose and breathes it in: the scent is sweet but not sickening, fresh and airy and bright like new life ought to always be. “You’re my best friend, you know that,” Percy tells her frankly.

 

Keyleth smiles and nods. “Likewise, you big nerd.” She kisses him on the cheek and begins the explain the rest of the flower patch, where each seed had come from, which plants had been the most difficult to cultivate.

 

It is a strange feeling, being so surrounded by life in your moment of death. Percy takes it in as best he can—

 

 

* * *

 

 

“Darling, if you don’t keep your elbow up, I’m going to keep it up for you,” Vex laughs, nudging his arm up from behind.

 

He blinks and Keyleth is gone. Greyskull Keep is gone. They are in the woods somewhere outside of Vasselheim, and they have less scars. Percy knows this memory as well.

 

“Oh, I can’t _wait_ until I get you practicing with Bad News,” Percy finds himself saying darkly. “You’ll get blown back off the map.” He looses an arrow and it feebly falls to the right, no where _near_ the target on the tree twenty yards ahead of the two of them.

 

“ _Aim_ , Percival,” Vex laughs. “You’re just wasting arrows at this point.”

 

“I’m not exactly proficient in this,” Percy laughs.

 

Vex comes up behind him and has him draw her bow taught. His positioning changes under her guiding hands, and when she says, “Ready the arrow,” the head of it notches perfectly between his fingers.

 

She rests one hand on his elbow and one hand on his hip. Where she touches him, his skin seems to tingle. “Shoot, darling,” Vex murmurs in his ear.

 

The arrow zooms through the forest and hits _right_ on target.

 

“See,” she grins, pulling away from him. He is stunned at his accuracy. “Guns and arrows aren’t so different.”

 

“Trust me, they are,” Percy corrects.  “But thank you for this.” He puts a hand on her shoulder. “Thank you.”

 

Vex rolls her eyes and brushes him off. “It was nothing, Percy.” Her cheeks are a little red, probably from exertion, and when he hands her the bow back, their fingers graze together gently. “You’re already a good shot.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Beyond that, death is quiet. Percy doesn’t know what he expected.

 

 

* * *

 

 

He is not alive when he sees his family next.

 

“Things must be very strange for you right now,” Scanlan says kindly. Keyleth is holding him, weeping silently.

 

“We’re using Speak with Dead until Pike can gather the necessary materials for the raising ritual,” Vax explains. “Kima’s helping, too.”

 

His living self knew this spell. It granted the caster three questions on a dead creature. He waits.

 

“So, our first question,” Vex says, and her voice is choked with emotion. “Do you know that we love you?”

 

Percy feels his mouth open jerkily. “Yes,” he says, and the word drags from his throat, raspy and hoarse, like someone pulling an anchor up from the bottom of the ocean. Keyleth lets out a sob that echoes in the quiet desperation of the group, and she buries her face in Percy’s chest.

 

He watches Vex crouch and hug her knees, watches too as Vax dips down and puts a hand on her back to steady her.

 

“You like, want to come back, right?” Grog asks, tone curious, like he is wondering if death is actually really freaking cool.

 

Again the word, “yes,” is drawn out from between his lips. Relief seems to seep into the group around him.

 

“Why?” is the final question, and it comes from Keyleth. “Ripley is dead and Orthax is gone. This land is full of dragons. Why come back?” She has snot running from her nose and her eyes are bloodshot, like she’s been crying for days.

 

Percy’s mouth jerks open once more and the words come, grating but pure because they are steeped in the truth. “Because I’m not finished yet.”

 

Whatever force is animated his body seems to seep away, and Percy slips back into the quiet dark.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Breath fills his lungs, ice cold and shocking, and he coughs hard at the sensation. Everything hurts, and his arms feel heavy, like they’ve been infused with lead. He whimpers a little and curls into himself.

 

A hand comes to rest on Percy’s hip, light as a feather, pulsing with warm, healing magic. “Percy,” a voice says softly. “Can you hear me?”

 

“Ow,” Percy mutters, cracking his eyes open to see Pike. She is sitting on her knees beside him, and behind her stand the rest of the group. The rest of his family. “Hi.”

 

“Hi,” Pike replies, and her eyes are full of tears. She throws herself at him in a giant hug, and Percy weakly pats her back. “I felt the necklace break. I can’t remember the last time I was so scared.”

 

Percy blinks his eyes a little as the room comes into focus. He stares over Pike’s shoulder at his friends and finds Keyleth, who looks withered: skinnier than he remembers, and the circles under her eyes are dark. There are wrinkles at the edges of her eyes that Percy does not recall seeing before. Looking across the group, each member looks sapped of energy. Even Grog looks tried.

 

“Let’s not do that again,” Percy tells the group.

 

“Good advice from the dead guy,” Scanlan points out, and small chuckles permeate the room.

 

He can’t begin to guess what the last few days have cost them. Well, he _can_ guess, but his imagination isn’t very kind. Pike brushes the diamond flakes from his chest and Percy rises. He glances at the dust on the bed and frowns.

 

“Don’t ask the price we paid,” Vex says quietly. “It was worth it.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Vex follows him to his room that night. 

 

“Let the man _rest_ , Vex’ahlia,” Vax chastises, but she just flips him off as she leaves the dining hall when Percy announces that he’s decided to retire for the evening.

 

Percy doesn’t quite know what she’s planning, but when she sets up a chair in the corner of the room, Fenthras in tow, and takes a seat, he gathers that she plans on spending the night.

 

“You have a rather fine room, befitting a baroness, just a few doors over,” Percy says weakly. “They’ve fluffed your pillows and everything.”

 

Vex crosses her legs and glares at him. Fenthras curls around her wrist aggressively, mirroring Vex’s misplaced anger. “I’m good here.”

 

Percy sits down on his bed and looks down at his hands. “So,” he starts.

 

“Take it,” Vex interrupts, and she throws Cabal’s Ruin at Percy, the beautiful opalescent fabric flying through the air and landing in Percy’s lap. “You earned it.”

 

The cloak is far too fine to be made by any craftsman Percy’s ever come into contact with, including those who work for royalty. He does not put it on but folds it gingerly. The cloth feels like water in his hands, slipping across his fingers readily. This was not made for mortal men.

 

“At least take the bed, then,” Percy sighs, laying the folded cloak on his nightstand.

 

Vex chokes out a laugh. “Percival, you just _died_.”

 

Percy smiles. “And you are a fully titled lady, Vex’ahlia. My brief stint as a dead man didn’t strip me of my manners.”

 

Vex looks down for a moment, and when she locks eyes with him, they are shining and watery. “I just want to watch you breathe, until I forget what it looked like to see you so still.”

 

Percy’s heart breaks and he walks to her before taking a knee. “You can do one better,” he says solemnly, and he takes her hand and rests it above his heart.

 

Vex begins to cry quiet tears that fall down her face. “Percy, it was so _hard_. I never—I _never_ want to see you like that again.” Vex’s breath catches. “It felt like a piece of my heart died.”

 

“And what do you think it was like for me to see you fall in the tomb?” Percy says softly. “Considering it was my _fault—_ ”

 

“We’ve all made mistakes—” Vex says kindly, but Percy cuts her off.

 

“It was my fault,” he repeats, and Vex looks away.

 

“How do you feel?” she asks. Her hand moves from his chest to cup his cheek. “Do you hurt?”

 

Percy allows himself a brief, indulgent moment of touch, turning his face into Vex’s warm palm. Her hand is shaking, and he covers her hand with his own. “The same, I suppose. A little weaker. The stairs are harder.” Vex laughs and Percy smiles up at her. “That’s better,” he says softly, and it’s true: Vex smiling beats most things in this world.

 

Percy stands up and makes his way back to the bed. He shrugs off his overcoat and hangs it up on the hook that’s embedded in the wall beside his bed. The coat is bloodstained and covered in bullet holes and Percy makes a mental note to ask Keyleth to mend it in the morning. His hands come to the collar of his shirt and he hears Vex clear her throat.

 

He looks over his shoulder at her, and she is giving him the strangest look. “You’re sure you want to stay in here?” he asks.

 

Vex puts Fenthras down on her chair, its vines unwrapping from her wrist and releasing her from its grasp. “Darling?” he repeats as she walks over to him. She replaces his hands with her own at his collar and unbuttons his shirt slowly, until the fabric is open and hanging against his naked chest. Her fingers are nimble, but they still shake, like she can’t quite believe he’s really there. “Vex,” he murmurs.

 

She tiptoes onto the edges of her feet to kiss him, and it really is just _her_ kissing _him_ for a long moment. Percy’s received so many kisses to the cheek from Vex’ahlia that he’s memorized the way her lips feel: still, somehow, this is a different sensation. This is a kiss dipped in desperation, and before Percy can react, Vex has pulled back. “I just thought you should know,” she shrugs. “You _deserve_ to know that my heart, well—it’s yours. If you want it.”

 

Percy touches his lips in quiet astonishment. “That’s quite a gift.”

 

Vex smiles nervously, bringing her hands to her chest. “It’s not something I even intended on giving away.” She looks away with a quiet laugh.

 

“You know you’re my favorite,” Percy finds himself saying. He is distracted by the red on Vex’s cheeks, and he’s rather amazed his brain is coming up with anything to say at all.

 

“You say such pretty things, Percival,” Vex sighs, “that I wonder what you actually _mean._ ”

 

Percy frowns before taking her head in his hands. “Is this clear enough?” he asks before he leans down and kisses her. Vex makes a noise and scrabbles her hands against his open shirt, fingers tangling in the fabric as she pulls herself closer. It is a simple, proper kiss that devolves into something more base, into something that pulls at Percy’s gut like he’s been hooked by a fishing line. He desires her, yes: she is beautiful and has always been beautiful in his eyes. This is more than just bedding a woman, however: this is _Vex’ahlia_. She fits against him perfectly, filling his palms with warm curves as well as the hard edges of her armor. He’s never held anything more dangerous in his hands, and he bloody well invented the shotgun.

 

Hells, they’ve both _died_. The time that he’s been gifted is too precious. He will not die with a secret in his heart.

 

“Crystal,” Vex nods before pushing him backwards onto the bed.

 

She crawls up to kiss him, and when she kisses him, she kisses like she’s hungry for it, like she’s the predator and he’s simply her prey. Straddling his hips in an easy motion, she reaches to tug her pauldrons off. Percy lends a hand, loosening the leather straps where Vex can’t reach. They make quick work of the rest of their armor and clothes: Vex’s shirt ends up on a sconce across the room, and Percy’s small clothes are somewhere in the vicinity of the door.

 

Vex has a good arm.

 

“You have new scars,” Vex says softly, pressing him down into the sheets. Her fingers circle around the skin of his chest where Ripley’s bullets had sunk, and she leans down to kiss each mark like they’re something she can heal. Hells, maybe she can. Percy has seen many great and terrible things in this world. He wouldn’t bat an eye at a half-elf with a healing kiss.

 

“The person who gave me them is dead,” Percy shrugs. “I’ll call that fair play.”

 

Vex stares beyond Percy’s head into the pillows, focusing on some image in her mind. “I held you, after that _bitch_ took her final shot,” she spits. “I begged you to come back.”

 

“I’m sorry,” Percy says reflexively.

 

Vex laughs throatily. “Don’t apologize. You were just a body. You weren’t really there.”

 

He threads his fingers in her hair and pulls her down. “You brought me back,” he tells her. “I’m here now.”

 

“Prove it,” Vex demands, her eyes bright. She takes his hand in hers and moves it between her legs. “Prove to me you’re still alive. This could all be some elaborate dream, you know.” Her words are mirthful but her eyes are bright, and Percy understands. With the world rolling off its axis at every turn, one needs reminding of what is _real_ and what is imagined.

 

“Here is your proof,” Percy huffs, and he pulls her down to the bed, his fingers dexterous as always between her folds. She is slick under his fingertips, and she gasps when he explores her further. Vex whimpers, knees falling apart and hips canting up for more friction. “Do you feel this?” he asks, and Vex whines out a _yes_ that echoes around the room. “And this,” Percy continues, slipping a finger inside her and crooking it slightly.

 

Percy has desired people before, and slept with some of them in addition: with Vex, his fingers shake like he’s never put his hands on another person before. 

 

“Yes,” Vex gasps. “More.”

 

His hands steady.

 

Percy has always given her every cent he’s earned. He is used to giving Vex what she wants. What he is _not_ used to is the sight of her naked beneath him. He is not used to the way her breath catches when he adds another finger. He is not used to the way her fingers tangle in his hair as he kisses his way down the center of her chest to her core.

 

He hopes, in a haze of sex and desire, that he never gets used to this.

 

Her thighs tighten around his head when he tastes her. “Fucking hell, Percy,” Vex gasps. “I didn’t think you had it in you.” He raises an eyebrow up at her and she laughs. _Good_. It’s a wonderful sound.

 

Vex nearly suffocates him when she comes, her thighs wrapping around his head and holding him down to her slick slit. Percy thinks it would be one of the better ways to die, considering his field experience in the area now.

 

“You’re a mess,” Vex sighs, scratching at his scalp as he crawls up the bed. She wipes at his mouth with her fingers and kisses him. Her braid is falling apart and her face is flushed with red in the hollows of her cheeks and he has never seen anything more beautiful.

 

“Look who’s talking,” Percy smiles.

 

“A beautiful mess,” Vex corrects.

 

“Yes,” Percy nods.

 

“And a baroness,” she adds.

 

“Of course,” he agrees.

 

She looks away. “ _Your_ mess,” she whispers.

 

“Yes,” Percy says. She smiles up at him, beatific, and he has to kiss her again.

 

She is still so slick from earlier that the slide inside her is easy. Percy gasps at the sensation when Vex squeezes herself down around him, and she bites at his neck, marking her claim. His hips buck as her teeth find his skin, and he loses himself in her arms. Her nails claw down his back as he thrusts himself deeper inside her. “You’re safe and you’re mine,” Vex repeats over and over in his ear, and eventually, that is enough to send him over the edge.

 

 

* * *

 

 

He does not have any nightmares that night, but instead enjoys an uninterrupted, dreamless slumber. He does awaken to Vex kissing her way up his arm. “That’s a nice wake up call,” Percy smiles sleepily. It feels good not to have to blink away the frightening images of the night before.

 

“Don’t call me nice,” Vex smirks before taking him in hand.

 

A half hour later, after they are both fully sated, Vex pulls on her clothes from the night before and creeps out of the room so stealthily that one minute, Percy is saying goodbye while putting on his left shoe, and the next, she is gone.

 

There is a loud, “ _Ah-HA!_ ” from the hallway, followed by Vex’s, “Oh, _fuck you_ , Bird Man.” 

 

Percy laughs and decides to let the twins deal with their intricacies on their own. He waits fifteen minutes before emerging into the hallway, which is now empty.

 

“Percival,” Vax announces, and Percy twists around to find the half-elf lazily leaning against the wall. Curse that man’s stealthing abilities. “I’m not trying to make things weirder than they already are,” he says, pointing at the hickey on Percy’s neck, “but you should know that I forgive you.”

 

Vax doesn’t have to specify: Percy knows he’s talking about the tomb.

 

“Really?” Percy hums to himself. “I should die more often.”

 

Vax’s eyes darken and he puts a hand on Percy’s back. “Let’s try to avoid any more of that. For all our sakes.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

There are still dragons to fight. It is strange to think that the world kept on turning in Percy’s absence.

 

Keyleth is sitting under the Sun Tree in meditation, and Percy takes a few minutes just to study her. She still looks worn, more worn than he’s seen her outside of combat.

 

Vex told him not to ask about the price, but he is a curious man.

 

“My dear,” Percy says, startling Keyleth from her silent pondering. “May I join you?”

 

Keyleth smiles up at him. She seems tired, and when she pats the grass beside her, Percy pulls her into his side and holds her close, as if his closeness can somehow make her whole once more.

 

“Tell me what you did,” Percy says plainly, because it’s obvious. It’s obvious to anyone who knows Keyleth that something has changed.

 

“It doesn’t matter,” Keyleth says quietly.

 

“It does matter,” Percy vows, and he tangles her fingers with his own. “It matters to _me_.”

 

Keyleth tells him about the ritual: it was similar to the one they did for Vex in the tomb. 

 

Three offerings were made.

 

A shawm. A siege arrow. And something else.

 

“I wanted to give something,” Keyleth says, staring out at the grassy meadow. “But I knew it would take something powerful to drag your soul back. Nothing seemed to be working, and Pike was on the verge of passing out. I needed to offer something of equal value.” Keyleth looks at him, and her eyes are teary. “Have I told you how happy I am to see you alive, Percy?”

 

“Have I told you how happy I am to be alive?” Percy says in reply.

 

Keyleth closes her eyes for a long moment, and when they flutter open again, she seems at peace with her decision. “There’s always been a kernel of immortality in the essence of my soul, the same kernel that would transform my body if I managed to complete my people’s quest. So I offered it up.” She smiles at him, but he can feel his heart breaking. He is not worth that.

 

“The Aramente?” Percy asks gravely.

 

“There will be no Aramente,” Keyleth says, voice catching in her throat. “There’s a reason why we didn’t want you to know.”

 

He is _not_ worth this.

 

“Tell me you wouldn’t have done the same,” Keyleth says softly. “That you wouldn’t sacrifice Whitestone to bring me back.”

 

Percy does not reply but hugs her in close and murmurs, “thank you,” over and over again until the words lose their meaning.

 

(Here is the truth: Whitestone is his legacy. Percy hopes he never has to make that call.)

 

 

* * *

 

 

Cassandra does not crowd him. They both have responsibilities to take care of and people to protect.

 

The group is leaving for Wildmount and Percy needs to say goodbye.

 

He finds her in his family’s crypt.

 

“Don’t make me bury you, brother,” Cassandra says plainly without turning around. It’s a little eerie that she knows it’s him without even looking.

 

“Stay alive, sister,” Percy says in kind.

 

They stand in front of Vesper’s grave, the oldest sister of the family, and Percy places a pebble of whitestone on the grave marker. She was always the most capable in times of great need. Percy wishes she were here now.

 

“She would know what to do,” Cassandra agrees.

 

“We are the ones who remain,” Percy says. “We have to be enough.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

The white dragon is waiting, for  Wildmount’s ice has yet to melt. The green dragon is in the wind. Thordak is fully ensconced in the city of Emon.

 

Percival Fredrickstein Von Musel Klossowski de Rolo III is alive. When Vex takes his hand, he is reminded of that fact. When Keyleth smiles at him, he vows to make this second chance something of note.

 

Percy stares out at Whitestone Castle and then back at his friends. He is not yet finished with his work. There are things he needs to protect.

 

“Oy, come on, we’ve got dragons to kill!” Scanlan calls out. Grog lets out a hearty laugh, and Percy feels himself warm in the noonday sun. Percy and Vex walk out across the field to meet the rest of the group, and while he grass bends beneath his boots, but the blades do not break. Perhaps Keyleth has strengthened the natural elements of the area, or perhaps Percy has learned to tread more lightly across living things.

 

“Indeed we do,” Percy nods.

 

“ _Indeed we poo_ ,” Grog repeats, and the group laughs as one.

 

Keyleth smiles and opens a portal in the Sun Tree, and as they run through into the unknown danger that awaits them in Draconia, Percy thinks: _let us be the monsters in the Chroma Conclave’s nightmares. Let us be the thing that keeps you up at night._

 

Vex squeezes his hand. Percy squeezes back. “Still here,” he tells her.

 

“Just checking,” she nods.


End file.
